


Nocturne

by blakefancier



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-26
Updated: 2011-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-18 16:33:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakefancier/pseuds/blakefancier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake's dead, so why won't he leave Avon alone?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nocturne

Avon huddled back against the wall of the cell and stared at the figure standing near the door. Blake, looking as he had on the London, all those years ago, smiled at him. The bastard actually smiled, as if he weren't dead.

Perhaps the stun blasts had done something to his vision. Or it could be hallucinations from the pain. He blinked rapidly, then rubbed his eyes. Blake was still there.

"I killed you. You're dead." Avon regretted the words the moment they were out of his mouth. Obviously he was insane. After being hunted for four years, he'd cracked. Blake was merely a figment of his imagination.

Of course, Blake had never been merely anything. Blake--no, no, the figment--walked forward, crouched in front of him, and smiled again.

"I'm insane," he choked out.

Blake--it, it, IT-- was reaching out to touch Avon and dammit, he was dead!

"No," the figment replied, in the same sharp tone Blake used in his surest moments.

That tone had a singular effect on Avon. It felt as if someone were squeezing his chest. He couldn't breathe; how could he went that oh so familiar voice was speaking to him?

"You're dead," he whispered.

"I am dead." Blake shrugged.

"Then what? A ghost?" The laugh that emerged from Avon's throat made the image flinch. He kept laughing, kept laughing until he realized he needed to stop. If he didn't, he would never be able to stop again.

"And if I am a ghost? Does that surprise you?" Blake--It cocked an eyebrow.

"Nothing about you surprises me. So you've come back to torment me. It would be just like you."

"Don't confuse my motivations with yours, Avon."

He closed his eyes and turned his head. The wall was cool against his temple. He had a blinding headache and this argument was not going well. Avon enjoyed it much too much for it to be healthy. "Then what have you come for?"

"To help you escape."

Avon shivered as he felt a tiny breeze brush against his cheek. Almost like fingers. Almost, except that he didn't believe in ghosts or spirits or apparitions. He didn't believe that humans had souls.

Why couldn't he have been a happy madman? One of those poor creatures that smiled and lived in self-inflicted utopias. Why could he never take the easy way?

"Avon! Servalan will be coming soon. You have to escape."

He opened his eyes and looked at, ah what the hell, looked at Blake. "And where do you propose I go? I'm sure that Servalan has seen to it that everyone knows who killed you."

"I know a few places where you'll be safe. But you must get out of this cell!"

Ah, Blake was angry now. Good, he could handle an angry Blake.

"What of the others?"

Blake's eyes softened. "I'm sorry."

A small, hurt sound emerged from his mouth before he could smother it. Why did that revelation hurt so much? Especially since the image of Blake was just his imagination.

//Because he is only reiterating what you must already know, you idiot. They are all dead. And you…//

"I don't want to die," he said, surprised.

Blake's eyes widened. "I didn't think you did."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Well... I don't know."

"So much for my Fearless Leader," he snorted and slowly got to his knees.

"I'm dead, remember. Do you think you can overpower the guards?"

"Perhaps. Then what?"

"There are airshafts that run through the building--"

"There always are."

"Will you let me finish?"

"By all means." He used the wall to inch up. His body burned with an almost unbearable heat. One of the side effects of a stun blast was a low-grade fever. What did several do?

"You can use the shafts to get outside. From there… Are you all right?"

Avon nodded and clung to the wall. His body broke out in a sweat and his legs trembled.

"Maybe you should sit back down."

That sounded like a very good idea except that if he did, he would not be able to get up again.

Then...no, he didn't feel the pressure of hands against his shoulders. Those were not Blake's hands, soothing his shoulders, soft as feathers. Blake was dead and he was insane and those were not Blake's fingers that brushed against his neck.

"You're feverish, aren't you?"

"Can't you tell?"

"I'm dead, what do you think?"

"Wonderful."

"Does this mean you believe me?"

Avon pressed his forehead against the wall. "I don't know."

"Avon--"

"I don't know!" He couldn't think, not with the pain. Not with Blake concerned and helpful.

"I was just going to say that you killed quite a few of them before you passed out. If you can get one of them to open the door you should have no problem overpowering him."

"I'm warmed by your faith."

Blake laughed. "You're impossible."

"So I've been told."

"Yes, I was always quite adamant about telling you what I thought about you. And you about me. Too bad we were never courageous enough to tell the truth."

For some reason, that stung. Avon had to swallow a lump in his throat before he could respond. "Don't be maudlin."

Before Blake could reply, the door opened.

A young trooper with a gun stepped in. "Good, you're mobile. I should kill you where you stand."

Avon turned and pressed his back to the wall. "Then why don't you?"

"Don't tempt me." The boy licked his lips. "I'm not Federation. I'm a rebel. You killed Blake."

Blake smiled. "He'll help you."

He almost laughed. Even this figment was an innocent.

"I took care of all the guards. Not too hard with only minimal troops."

"What are you going to do with me?" Any moment now his legs were going to give away.

"I'm going to let you go."

"That's kind of you." His vision was blurry. He blinked rapidly to clear his eyesight.

"Oh no, it's not. The dead deserve justice, and there's no better justice than to let you go. You see, everyone knows you killed Roj Blake. The rebels want you dead and when you escape, so will the Federation." He smiled. "You won't have a moment's rest."

"So much for your unwashed masses, Blake," he muttered under his breath.

The boy backed out the door. "Come on!"

Avon followed slowly, each step burning through his nerve endings. By the time they made it to the outer door, he was bathed in sweat and shivering.

"I hope you burn in hell." He shoved Avon to the ground.

"Too late." He pressed his cheek to the ground and closed your eyes.

"We should go now Avon. There are still bounty hunters about."

He sighed. "You should know."

"That was uncalled for."

"Perhaps." He opened his eyes.

"Damn, you don't have any shoes on."

Avon looked down at his bare feet. "Nothing to be done now."

"I suppose not." Blake sighed and passed a hand over his eyes. "We go north."

"Yes." Avon scrambled to his feet and stumbled forward. Staying on his feet was going to be more difficult than he imagined. He was still feverish, which was good, he supposed, since it was damned cold. And he ached, not only with pain, but also with unbearable weariness.

But he could bear it, as he bore everything else. Ah yes, he must be truly mad. He'd been beaten and yet here he was, following a figment of his imagination--the image of a man he had murdered.

Madness.

He tripped over a root and clutched frantically at a tree to keep from falling.

"Avon," Blake whispered into his ear.

Avon pressed his cheek into the rough bark. "I'm tired."

"We can't stop. They have heat sensors."

"I don't care." Five minutes, just five minutes to close his eyes.

"Dammit, Avon!"

"Don't have to listen to you. You're dead." He closed his eyes and slid slowly down the tree.

That was, until he heard a derisive snort, then mocking laughter.

He opened his eyes.

Blake was staring down at him, scornfully. "Giving up, Avon? I thought you had more self-preservation than that. But then, everything you ever tried to do was a grand failure. Why should this be different?"

Avon glared at Blake and pulled himself to his feet. Then he straightened and dusted his clothing. "Don't think you can manipulate me."

"Now would I think that?" Blake broke out into a smile.

"Go to hell."

"Get going."

"One of these days Blake--"

"What? I'm going to overstep my bounds? Too late, I'm dead, remember? Now get going?" The smile faded and a look of anger replaced it.

Avon closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again Blake was gesturing him to move. He lurched forward.

It was several hours later when they came across a stream. Avon dropped to his knees and scooped the water up to cool his skin. He drank a few handfuls before his stomach clenched in rebellion and brought it all up.

"Sip the water, slowly." Blake brushed his cheek, gently.

"Don't." He shied away from the touch. Then he sucked the moisture from his fingers.

"Avon," Blake began, and then looked up.

He froze, hearing the snap of a twig. His hand went to his side before he remembered that he was not armed.

"Well, well, what've we got here?"

Avon looked into the water and saw the reflection of a man, dressed as a bounty hunter.

"I don't recognize him. But then there were a lot of new bounty hunters these past few weeks. Don't make any sudden movements."

Brilliant. Blake was treating him like an idiot now.

"I said, what do we got here?"

Avon had to hold back a shiver as a gun caressed the side of his face.

"I know you, don't I?"

He kept his gaze down, his mind scrambling for a way to get out of the situation live.

"You're the one who killed that rebel, what's his name? Roj Blake, that's it. What'd he do, take a fancy to your kid?"

"Blake never molested those children." The response was out of his mouth before he could stop it. He didn't know why he defended him. It wasn't as if it mattered now.

"Thank you," Blake said.

He didn't reply.

"I thought the Feds had you?"

"They let me go," he snapped.

"You've got a smart mouth for a dead man."

"The dead aren't particularly quiet." He risked a glance at Blake who flashed him a quick grin.

"There's a rock near your right hand, Avon. He won't see you pick it up. If you can get him down to your level, you can knock him unconscious."

Avon felt around carefully until he could curl his fingers around the stone. Then he clutched his stomach and moaned.

"What's wrong?" The man dropped to his knees.

Amateur, Avon thought distastefully before he swung his fist and knocked the bounty hunter onto his back.

A thrill of satisfaction ran through his body and before he knew it he had straddled the man and was…

"Avon, Avon that's enough. I said that's enough. He's dead!"

He stopped, and let the stone fall from his hands. The bounty hunter's face--well the bounty hunter didn't have a face. Not anymore. Avon crawled away from the body.

"Take the gun."

Avon stared at the blood on his hands. He closed his eyes…red flashing, the wail of an alarm, blood, metallic and sickening. And Blake, staring up at him with eyes that could no longer see.

"Dammit Avon, snap out of it!"

He did, as he always did when Blake spoke to him in that tone. He opened his eyes to find himself staring at Blake's concerned eyes.

"Pick up the gun."

With shaking hands, he took it, fighting back nausea.

"Oh, and take his boots."

Avon blinked.

"They look about the right size. Now hurry." Blake looked off in the distance. "And check to see if he has any credits on him."

He took the boots from the corpse and slipped them on. They pinched a bit, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Then he made a cursory check for money. The man had a few semi-precious stones, enough for a passage off the planet…maybe.

Then Avon got to his feet and made his way back into the forest. He wished he'd had time to wash his hands.

**********

It was dark before he decided that he had enough. It was ridiculous.

"Why have you stopped?" Blake had his hands on his hips. He looked absolutely noble.

"I need to rest."

"You don't have time."

"I'll have to make time." He collapsed to the ground. "I'm exhausted and feverish, and the guards didn't exactly treat me well."

"I just want you to be safe."

Avon laughed. "You should have thought of that before."

"Avon."

"I want you to go away."

"I can't."

"You mean won't."

"Avon, please don't argue. It doesn't matter." Blake reached out and stroked his temple.

"You're not real. Go away."

"I am real. Can't you feel me?"

He shook his head. "A figment of my feverish imagination."

"So you said. But can't you conceive that maybe I might be real?"

"No," he whispered.

Blake knelt in front of him. "Can't you?" Then he leaned forward and Avon could have sworn that he could feel Blake's mouth against his.

He scrambled back. "Stop!"

"Avon?"

"You're not real." He wiped at his mouth.

"All right, all right fine." Blake looked away. "Why don't you get some rest?"

Avon found himself a nice soft place under a tree and closed his eyes. He tried not to think about the kiss; he was still trying when he finally fell asleep.

 

"Avon, Avon wake up. It's time to wake up."

"No, go 'way Blake. Another half an hour and I'll check the detectors."

"Avon." Blake sounded frustrated. "Get up."

With a frisson of irritation, he opened his eyes. There was a moment of disorientation before he remembered where he was, and why. "So you're still here."

Blake shrugged. "Last time I left, you made a mess of things. How do you feel?"

"I feel that speaking to the dead must be unhealthy." He ran his fingers through his hair and tugged his clothes into some semblance of order.

"A few more hours walk and we should make it to a city," Blake replied, ignoring his comment.

"I know. I remember flying over a few towns on the way to your base."

"Oh." Blake offered him a hand up.

He had begun to reach up before he remembered. He glared and scrambled to his feet.

"Sorry." Blake grinned. "How do you feel?"

"Fine," he said, which wasn't exactly true. He still hurt but he could handle the pain now.

Blake kept up a steady stream of conversation that was almost unnatural for him. Unnatural not because Blake was the quiet sort, but because the subject never once touched upon the rebellion or the Cause.

Finally, he couldn't take it any more. "Will you shut up!"

Blake looked at him. "Why don't you wish me away?"

"Don't tempt me."

"Very well Avon, I'll leave you alone." Then he disappeared.

Avon ruthlessly squashed a feeling of panic. It was what he wanted, after all.

By the time he made it to a city, he was exhausted again, trembling and feverish. Not that it mattered; he needed to get off this damned planet before anyone recognized him. He listened to the talk around in the spaceport, if it was one thing spacers loved, it was gossip. There was no mention of dead rebels or escaped prisoners, much to his relief.

He asked around and found there were several ships leaving the next day which would suffice. He booked transport on a free trader ship:

"I'm transporting food concentrates to Saurian Beta. Not much of a planet, mostly farmers, but since the Andromedan War they need all the help they can get. You sure you want to go there old man?"

Old man? Avon held his tongue. "Yes, and I can pay for transport."

"I'll need to see the credits beforehand." She crossed her arms over her chest.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the gems.

"Not much, but enough." She reached for the stones but Avon closed his hand.

"After we lift off, and not a moment before."

"You're a cautious man." She laughed and offered her hand. He ignored it. "The name's Beka."

"Chevner."

"We leave tomorrow at 1400 hours."

He nodded and went to find himself a place to stay the night.

The hotel he found wasn't quite up to par but it was relatively clean and the bed was soft.

Clean and well fed he slipped under the covers and fell asleep.

**********

There was pressure; it traveled across his belly and down his hips to stroke the insides of his thighs. He sighed and shifted restlessly.

"Yes," he whispered, luxuriating in the blurry desire.

"Avon."

He let his thighs fall open and gasped as a hand brushed his cock. Then there was the soft sweep of a mouth against his, and a lick, a tongue asking for entry. He granted it, panting at its insistence.

Avon opened his eyes, just a fraction. Blake, yes, of course Blake. Who else? There was no one else.

"Turn over, love." Blake stroked his cheek.

He smiled and turned onto his stomach.

Pressure again, opening him this time, impelling him into a slow, agonizing rhythm. He cried out into the pillow, clenching his fists into the sheets.

Harder, Blake, faster, Blake... please, Blake.

Blake was filling him and infusing every sense so that he surrounded him. Inside and out.

Then in a rush of heat and light, he came. Trembling, he clutched the pillow to his chest.

Blake stroked his hair, murmured softly into his ear. Avon squeezed his eyes tightly and listened to the rumble of his voice.

He slept.

**********

He woke, not as he usually did, to complete awareness, but slowly. First it was the sunlight, then the constant aches and complaints of his body, and finally a sense of satisfaction. Avon opened his eyes and moaned. He could feel the dried evidence of last night's dream on the sheets under him. Surely he must be too old for those sorts of dreams.

Avon shifted onto his back and felt an unfamiliar twinge, almost as if... No, he put it out of his mind. There were other concerns, such as the vision of Blake sitting cross-legged at the foot of his bed.

"Hello, Avon."

The voice brought him to instant, painful arousal. He took a shaky breath, letting it out slowly. "Blake."

"How do you feel? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"You're dead, you can't hur-hurt me." To his horror, his voice cracked.

"Oh, Avon." Blake crawled over to him, ran transparent hands over his face and hair.

"Don't, please." Desire flared, and with it, fear.

"It's all right. Lie back, I'll make it all right."

He settled back and closed his eyes. He had read somewhere once about desert winds that were so hot and powerful they flayed the skin from the body. Blake was like that now.

Heat and pressure poured over Avon's body. He moaned, his body arching upward for more.

"I know, love," Blake whispered into his mouth.

Do you, Avon wondered. Do I?

"On your belly."

And then Blake was everywhere again, and he was crying out, thrusting into the mattress. He didn't want it to end, never end. No one else had ever made him feel so much pleasure. So much it hurt, wonderfully.

Then he was gasping and coming.

He opened his eyes.

Blake was gazing at him with languid eyes, a warm, satisfied look on his face.

Avon reached out to touch his cheek. His fingers passed through air. "Why can't I touch you?"

"Part of the rules. I can touch you, but you can't touch me."

"Whose rules."

Blake shrugged. "Yours, mine, the universe's. Who can know?"

"I suppose." Avon turned on his side and cleaned himself with a corner of the sheets. "The rules of the universe do tend to be strange sometimes."

"Does this mean you believe I'm real?"

"Does it matter?"

Blake smiled sadly. "No, I suppose not. I just wish you'd believe in me, this once."

Avon sat up and looked at the chrono. It was better than thinking of the implications of that statement, especially if…since Blake was only in his imagination. "We leave in few hours and I want to eat and get cleaned up. Since you cannot do anything useful, be silent."

"I thought I was doing something quite useful a few minutes ago. At least, you weren't moaning for me to stop."

Avon glared at him.

Other than a chuckle, Blake was, mercifully, silent.

**********

The trip to Saurian Beta was strangely uneventful. He complained to Blake that he should at least look familiar; after all he had been number two on the Federation's most wanted list.

It had taken Blake several minutes to stop laughing. Then Blake had assured him that it probably had nothing to do with being unimportant. "None of them spend more than a few minutes with you. They never give themselves a chance to recognize you."

Avon glared at him, remembering the humiliation of Blake accosting him in the corridor, and being caught by one of the crewmembers. "And whose fault is that? They think I'm a pervert."

"Certainly not mine. I'm not real, remember?"

He tensed. Had he forgotten?

Blake sighed and shook his head. "Take off your clothes and get on the bed. I think I want them to hear how perverted you really are."

And what did it mean that he did exactly what Blake told him to?

**********

They landed two miles from the outpost; there was less of an opportunity for unwanted detection. Beka had offered him transportation to the nearest big city, but he refused. There was a better chance that he would get picked up in a city, and Saurian Beta was a Federation planet. Instead he set off in the other direction with some water and food concentrates.

He and Blake had been walking for three days before they saw another person.

A farmer rode up to Avon in land transport. "Beautiful evening, isn't it?"

"No different from yesterday."

"Now Avon, be polite."

The farmer laughed. "That's true, I suppose."

The man reminded him of Gan. Avon swallowed down the lump in his throat.

"Been walking long?"

"Three days."

"Long time, where you heading?"

"Nowhere."

"Hmm. My house is a few miles from here if you're looking for a warm bed and something to eat."

Avon stopped and stared at him. "You don't know me."

"No."

"I could be a murderer."

The man smiled. "I think I can take you. Hop aboard."

Avon climbed in, ignoring Blake's comments on the goodness of men.

"My name's Roan Cole, what's yours?"

"Kel. Kel Sheveron."

It wasn't a long trip and Avon was surprised at how unconcerned Roan's wife Dora seemed about his appearance. Of course she was also trying to keep two very young girls from running around and an infant from crying.

The two girls, Kara and Merin, kept out of his way for all of ten minutes. Then they were climbing over him, asking him questions.

"They like you Avon." Blake was leaning against the far wall, a look of amusement in his eyes.

He would have commented, but it was bad manners to use such language around children.

Fortunately Roan must have seen his discomfort because he told the girls to get cleaned up for dinner.

"Roan, the damned vis-tape player's broken again."

He sighed. "Well, we'll have to wait till Joab comes around again to fix it."

Dora snorted and shook her head. "That man couldn't fix himself lunch."

"Well there's not much else I can do."

Avon looked up from floor. "Do you have tools?"

"Tools? Yes."

"I'll need them." Avon went to the player and ran his hands over it. Yes, he had taken one of these apart before. Roan came back and he took the tools from him. In a matter of seconds he found the problem and fixed it. "There, you shouldn't have any problems with it anymore."

Dora slipped it a vis-tape and watched it for a few seconds before shutting it off. "It would have taken Joab hours to fix it. You're very good."

He shrugged. "It's a simple device."

Roan looked at him thoughtfully. "If you're looking for work, there are a lot of people around here who would pay good money for services like this."

"Perhaps."

Of course, Blake refused to let it go.

Avon laid in Roan's spare bed, staring at the ceiling.

"It's as good a place as any." Blake was sitting at the foot of the bed. "You can trust these people."

"You don't know anything about them."

"I know they need your help."

"Ah yes, another cause. Well not for me." He closed his eyes.

"For a little while Avon. You owe them something for dinner and a place to sleep." Blake's voice was whispering in his ear.

"Maybe," he said, settling on his stomach. "Maybe a few days."

**********

A few days turned into a few months. Eventually Roan converted a shed out back into a living space for him. Avon didn't think much on it. He had his work and when he was bored, he and Blake would play chess.

**********

Avon wasn't sure if it was the creak of the walls or the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he woke with a start.

"Blake," he whispered, but there was no reply. Blake always replied.

The wind howling outside called to him and he knew he needed to answer. He didn't stop to put on a dressing gown or slippers, but went outside immediately. The wind tangled his hair and cut through his nightclothes, chilling his skin.

"Blake?"

"Here." The voice was behind him.

He spun around and, looking at Blake, cried out. Blake was different now, older. Not the Blake from the London, but Blake as he was on Gauda Prime, right before Avon--

"You're leaving."

Blake nodded. "You'll be safe here, Avon. These people will protect you. You're happy."

"No, no I won't let you." He wrapped his arms about himself. "You can't!"

"I wanted you to be safe."

"You can't leave me." Dust stung his eyes, making them water.

"It's unhealthy. Tell me goodbye and I'll go away. Your mind will realize I never existed." Blake nibbled on his forefinger.

"You're not my imagination!"

"Of course I am. There are no such thing as ghosts."

"You're real." Avon fell to his knees; he couldn't stand. "I need you."

"No you don't. You never did." Blake was kneeling in front of him.

"I'll die." Avon looked at him, into those phantom eyes. "You're real to me. Even if I can't touch you, even if no one but me can see you, you're real. And if you go, nothing will be real ever again. I love you."

"You're mad."

"No, no I'm quite sane, perhaps for the first time in years."

Blake touched him, a finger sliding down his cheek. "You'll never be rid of me."

"I know." Avon smiled and leaned in for a kiss.


End file.
